


New York, New York

by orphan_account



Category: Sing (2016)
Genre: Lot of Frank Sinatra here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9511187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Look, do you want me to help you or not?”The gorilla blinked, wide eyed and stammering, “But- I thought-?”“Listen, way I see it is that the faster I teach you what you want to learn, the faster you get off my back, right? So tell me what you want to know and let’s get this the hell over with.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Gegg! They asked for Johnny and Mike doing a duet and it turned out.. a lot longer...than I thought it would.  
> I do hope they, and you, enjoy.

       Mike could feel himself starting to lose it.

       For days now, something had sounded off, like an echo out of key. It had begun in the practice room he had been assigned, then, as if by magic, seemed to follow him around the theater. The koala swore up and down that there was nothing wrong with the practice rooms or the theater no matter how many times Mike brought it up, but Mike knew better.

       He had abandoned his practice room for the rafters above the stage, but the echo had followed. He had tried hiding out in the men’s bathroom, but to no avail. He had snuck into the dressing rooms to tuck himself in a closet, but no luck. No matter where he went, this thing followed him, hounding him, leaving a three second delay in every note he sang.

       This wasn’t in his head: imagination, sinuses, or otherwise. Something was going on, and he was truly starting to get angry.  

       In a last ditch attempt, he holed himself away in the gap beneath the stage, slipping between the forgotten masks and socks and support beams to find a corner to himself. With footsteps overhead, he ran through some bars, ears cocked and ready to catch the echo.

       Nothing.

       Good.

       Mike grinned as he hung his jacket over a protruding staple, rolling up his cuffs and loosening his shoulders. He breathed, held it, then-

_"Start spreading the news_  
_I am leaving today_  
_I want to be a part of it  
_ _New York, New York”_

        He paused again, just to be sure, but when no reply came back, he continued on.

_"These vagabond shoes_  
_Are longing to stray_  
_Right through the very heart of it  
_ _New York, New York”_

_"_ _-York”_

       Mike felt like he could eat his hat. Lips pulled back into a snarl, he hissed through his teeth and looked about. Where was it coming from, where? He couldn’t function like this! He counted backwards in his head from thirty, breathing deeply. Alright, alright.

_“I want to wake up in a city_  
_That doesn't sleep_  
_And find I'm king of the hill  
_ _Top of the heap”_

_"_ _-of the heap”_

       Mike moved steadily closer to the source as he sang, following nothing but a few seconds of delay. Looking up, he spied the underside of a pair of shoes just to the right of where he had hid himself. He made for the trap door.

_“These little town blues_  
_Are melting away  
_ _I'll make a brand new-”_

_"_ _-brand n-”_

       He threw the hatch wide, jumping onto the stage just as the echo turned from an off note into a yell of surprise.

       “You!”

       Mike watched as the gorilla kid curled in on himself, hands buried deep in his pockets while his feet inched closer to the shade of the wings. He ground his teeth as he marched over, finger jabbing the air between the two of them.

       “What, you think it’s funny? Follow the little guy around, throw off his game and make him look like a total fat-head?”

       “N-no!”

       “Oh yeah? Yeah? What you think you can lie to me now?” Mike jumped, latching onto the kid’s pant leg and climbing until he had a piece of the gorilla’s collar in his fist, “Think it’s funny now, punk? Think it’s a gas now?”

       “Jeeze, why are you so angry?”

       “Why am-? Why am I so angry!” Mike laughed, “ Because I just caught you red handed trying to screw with my act! That’s why I’m angry!”       

       The gorilla’s eyes went wide, his head shaking, “’M not trying to do anything! I was just practicing! You always- you always sound so smooth when you sing, and I don’t know how to do that. I didn’t mean anything by it!”

       Mike felt his anger turn from a boil to a simmer, leaning back to better stare the kid in the eye. Silence stretched between them for a moment, then, “You really weren’t trying to steal my thunder?”

       The gorilla shook his head again, “No, I promise I wasn’t.”

       The mouse hummed, jumping down and putting some space between them.

       “Well,” he looked the boy up and down, “well…at least you know you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.” He chuckled then, straightening his collar, “But if you think you can just copy everything I do and expect success, you’ve got another thing coming. I’ve worked hard for this, you know.”

       “I don’t- not trying to-”

       “Yeah yeah whatever. Look, do you want me to help you or not?”

       The gorilla blinked, wide eyed and stammering, “But- I thought-?”

       “Listen, way I see it is that the faster I teach you what you want to learn, the faster you get off my back, right? So tell me what you want to know and let’s get this the hell over with.”

       “Uh-”

       Mike turned on his heel sharply to stare into the eyes of the gorilla, “Last chance- yes or no.”

       “Yes! Yes of course-!”

       “Okay,” he cleared his voice, hitting the opening key of a vocal warm up as he sang, “ _Start right here_.”

       “Wh-”

       “Oh for- _This note_. I need you to start at _this note_.”

       The boy hesitated, then hit the note.

       Mike nodded, “Right, right okay, now since you’re so good at copying, I want you to follow me. You screw up, we start over, got it? _Doe, a deer, a female deer-_ ”

       And they practiced, and they practiced, and as the hours ticked by on Mike’s watch unnoticed, he ran the boy through every warmup and range exercise he could think of.  The kid would mess up, as kids did, but he wasn’t about to go easy. When the gorilla made a mistake, Mike let him have it. The singing would stop and the insults would fly. At one point, he even threatened to stop all together, but the kid begged him not to, pleaded with him not to. Fine, but Mike wasn’t about to pussy-foot around. No, this punk had trailed him for weeks. If he wanted to learn how to sing that badly then damn it he was going to learn how to sing today and that was final.

       It was only after the boy stood there, shaking in his shoes and his cords properly prepped, that Mike changed the game.

       “Right, good, good good. We’re making progress. Now,” he started moved closer, “that song you were eavesdropping on, you know it?”

       “No.”

       “No _sir._ ”

       “No sir.” 

       Mike smirked, “Alright then, we’ll do this your way ya little copycat. I’m gonna start, and you follow behind as closely as you can. Same rules: you screw up, we start over. Capisce?

       “Y-yes sir.”

       Mike cleared his throat, snapping his fingers to establish the tempo. For a moment, it was the only sound on the stage, then-

            _“Start spreading the news,_  
_I'm leaving today_  
_I want to be a part of it, N_ \- STOP!”

        Well, now he knew what people meant when they talked about something grating against their bones.

       “STOP! Just stop! Just stop just stop just- What the heck do you call that!”

       “I-”

       “Never sing like that again!” Mike sliced through the air with both his hands, “NEVER! God almighty kid this isn’t a choir! This isn’t a church! This is a god damn theater! Don’t- don’t talk while I’m talking, you understand? Now listen-“ He came closer, jabbing his finger with every question, “How do you sing when you’re in the shower and the house is empty, huh? How do you sing in your car when the windows are up and no one can hear you? How do you sing when you’ve got the stage to yourself and nobody’s watching?”   

       “I- I just- I just sing?”

       “Then just sing now,” he placed his hands against his chest, “Sing from here. Sing like you’re the only one who gives a shit and it doesn’t matter what anyone else things. Sing like it’s what you live for or don’t sing at all, do you understand?”

       The kid hesitated, then nodded, clearing his throat as he did so. Mike took a deep breath and the song started again.

       And kept going.

       And kept going.

       Hearing the delay up close was an odd experience. It felt like standing in a tiled public bathroom and humming: too close and too personal. Mike could feel something emanating from the boy that was just… too familiar to him. It brought an ach out he hadn’t felt in a long time, but he didn’t stop singing. No matter how much he wanted to, Mike found he just didn’t have it in him to let the music die.

            _“And if I can make it there_  
_I'm gonna make it anywhere_  
_It's up to you_  
_New York, New York, New York”_

        The theater echoed with the last note, burring itself into the velvet so deeply it would have been impossible to wash it out. The two animals stood there, breathing heavily in the silence, until Mike laughed.

       “Well,” he muttered, “well…that was better, yeah?”

       The gorilla nodded, grinning, “Much. Thank you, so-”

       “Ah whatever,” Mike waved a hand, “fat load of good it’ll do to get you that money, but at least you can’t say I never did something for ya.”

       Mike walked towards the trap door then, fully ready to go back to practicing his routine until he heard the quick sound of heavy footprints behind him.

       “Wait!”

       He turned, facing the kid who had his hand outstretched as though he could hold Mike back.

       “Why is- why are you so focused on the money? Didn’t you just give me a whole speech about singing like that’s what you live for and all that?”

       Time seemed to slow for a moment. Mike pulled himself to his full height, back ramrod straight as he looked the gorilla in the eye. He held that for as long as he could but then, quietly, that gentle aching feeling crawled back into his bones. It came out of the boy’s eyes, it sunk into his skin and into his marrow.

       Mike found himself looking at his cufflinks instead.

       “That song was the first song I ever heard by Sinatra,” he muttered, wiping invisible dust from the silver, “All that talk about the big apple and being a part of something bigger… it’ll leave an impression on a kid.” He took a deep breath then, before looking back up, “I don’t know what kinda life you’ve lived but I can tell you this. Where I came from? You’d do anything to get out of. You’d go any lengths, go anywhere.”

       Mike stepped forward into the silence, into the reach of the boy, but the boy did not reach out again.

       “I’m getting me that money, and I’m getting the hell out of here, and nobody, but nobody, is gonna stop me.”

       The emptiness ached. It ached around him. It ached inside him. It ached, and he couldn’t stand it.

       He turned his back on the boy and waved.

       “Good luck- doubt it'll help you much, but at least when you're left standing second place, you can say you actually tried.”

       Mike never spoke to the kid again.  

 

 


End file.
